


DC Barsoom

by Dark_Dhampir



Series: DC Barsoom [1]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU, Supergirl (TV 2015), Superman - All Media Types, The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Aliens, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Science Fiction, Barsoom, F/F, F/M, Green Lantern Corp, Immortality, League of Assassins - Freeform, Magic and Science, Mars, Multi, New Gods, Planetary Romance, Precognition, Psychic Abilities, Public Nudity, Science Heroes, Semi-Public Sex, Superheroes, Swords and Planets, Telepathy, The Helmet of Fate, justice league - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-02-09
Updated: 2018-09-04
Packaged: 2019-03-14 20:50:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,276
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13598124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dark_Dhampir/pseuds/Dark_Dhampir
Summary: A series of short, interconnected stories about various DC heroes reimagined in a world where baby Clark Kent, The Last Son of Earth, is sent to Mars and how the heroes would live and work on this strange world of science and chivalry and nudity.Loosely inspired by Edgar Rice Burroughs' BARSOOM stories.  Very loosely.





	1. The Last Son of Earth (Part I)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Uhhhh! . . . Why am I always beginning new stories before I finish old ones? Oh, yeah, because I come up with perverted ideas I think would actually be really fun to explore, and then can't help but get to work on them.
> 
> OK, for those who don't know: Edgar Rice Burroughs' BARSOOM stories were about a guy who got magically teleported to Mars (it's never really explained how he did it the first time) where the lower gravity made him super strong and agile. Yes, these stories are popularly considered to have been an influence on Siegel and Shuster's creation of Superman. The series is pretty weird, including the aforementioned magical teleportation, a mixture of advanced science fiction and swords and sorcery (the Martians have flying ships, exploding bullets, and factories to sustain the damaged atmosphere but prefer to fight with swords, ride mounts, and are ruled by noble houses), and the odd fact that most Martians preferred to go around naked. Still, it’s charming in its own way. If only because of how ridiculous the premise is, and how Burroughs played it completely straight. Then again, the great thing about superhero comics is how they’ve always been willing to play ridiculous and varied ideas completely straight. So, maybe this was a match made in Heaven (or in the Heavens).
> 
> Oh, who the heck cares? It’s an excuse to talk about naked people and sex (because unlike Burroughs, I don’t have to deal with censorship), and do something cool and different with my favorite superhero universe. So let's all just sit back, relax, and enjoy the ride.

Dr. Jonathan Kent checked his calculations one last time.  Once again, the results were positive--as positive as they could be, given the situation.   A tremor shook the building, despite its top-tier foundations.  Jonathan's eyes automatically flicked down to the screen.  A 7.2.  Not much time left.

"It's time, Jonathan," a voice said behind him.

Jonathan turned.  "I know," he said.  Behind him sat a woman the world knew as Senator Martha Kent, but he knew as his wife and the mother of his child.  Martha held little Clark in her arms.  The baby was sleeping peacefully, despite the noise of the world around him.  Jonathan's heart ached at the sight.  He would never hear his son's first words, see him take his first steps.  Heck, he wouldn't even see the boy wake up again.  And neither would his wife.  As he watched Martha place the sleeping boy in his new bed, he spoke.  "There's still time," he said.  "I could modify the ship.  More oxygen, more room.  You could . . . be with him."

Martha cocked her eyebrow at him.   "And would these modifications lower the ship's chances of safe arrival?"

"Not to any significant degree--"

"Yes or no, Jonathan."

Dr. Kent sighed.  Years of friendship and later marriage had taught him when his wife's patience had run out and it was best to do as she asked.  "Yes," he answered.

"Then I'm staying," she said, and he knew not to press the matter.  Bending to check Clark's blanket's one last time, she wiped her hand over her face.  "I have enough misgivings about this gambit as it is, Jonathan.  We're sending our son to _Mars,_ for Heaven's sake."

"Which we know isn't as hopeless as it sounds," he argued.  It was true.  Dr. Kent's long collaborations with the equally brilliant Ted Knight and Michael Holt had proven beyond all doubt that the barren, rocky world most astronomers saw through their telescopes was an illusion.  The true Mars, hidden out of phase with the rest of the universe, was just as alive and inhabited--and civilized--as Earth itself.  The trio had sought to make contact with their world's neighbors, but to no avail.  Jonathan had talked his wife into allowing him to submit his findings to the world, despite her misgivings and those of his colleagues.  It turned out she was right to worry; humanity at large had rejected his life's work.  Jonathan Kent's name was ruined in the eyes of scientists and patrons everywhere; the only one left who was still willing to give him a chance had been Lex Luthor, CEO of LexCorp.  Luthor was one of the wealthiest and most brilliant men on Earth, if not the most wealthy and brilliant.  He had the ear of almost every politician in Washington and beyond; if anyone could have restored Dr. Kent's reputation, it would have been him.  However, Jonathan's friends had told him how . . . unprincipled Luthor was when it came to his business, and Martha had backed them up, so he knew there was no chance of his ever working with the man. 

If only he had listened to them all and saved his reputation; perhaps then the people of Earth would have heeded his warnings!  Almost two years ago, Jonathan had discovered evidence that the world was doomed.  The planet would not die of climate change, as many thought.  No, instead, it would die as the planet itself was torn asunder by own destabled core!  A catastrophe brought about by--of course, Lex Luthor and his hasty and short-sighted scheme of harnessing power by tapping into the core itself. 

Jonathan had been horrified when he'd discovered this.  He'd sent the data to every scientist he knew who still had even a shred of respect for him:  Ted Knight, his cousin Sandra Knight, Michael Holt, Ted Kord, Rex Tyler, Pieter Cross, Jay GArrick, and Ray Palmer.  All of them geniuses, all of them secretly members of the elite team of science heroes and mystery men known as The Justice Society of America.  Together, they had used their intelligence to fight crime and make planet Earth a better place.  Together the team had launched a frenzied effort to rescue their world.  However, they soon sent one of their own, a man named Wesley Dodds blessed (or cursed) with the prophetic dreams to tell Jonathan the worst:  they were too late. 

Downhearted, Jonathan had languished in his lab after that, while his wife and friends did what they could to try to keep as many people alive for as long as they could.  Then, Martha had told him she was pregnant.  Jonathan threw himself back into work, determined that his child should survive even if his race should die.  He was not alone; his allies in the Justice Society supported him, using their own marvelous technology to help him.  To his surprise, he was joined by others.  Doctors Jeremiah and Eliza Danvers had concluded on their own that he was right; the planet was doomed, and the pair were desperate enough to save their own child--a little girl named Kara--that they were willing to buy into his mad theories about the red planet.  And joining them had been, wonder of wonders,  Lex Luthor, the mad man who had doomed his own world now desperate to save his own skin.  Unsurprisingly, he'd tried to steal the technology for himself, to ensure that _he_ survived the apocalypse of his own making.  Thankfully, the JSA had fought him off.  But they were gone now.  Now, it was just him and Martha.  Jeremiah and Eliza were launching Kara from another facility.  Jonathan hoped it worked out; he liked Kara and knew she would take good care of Clark.  It was a lot to place on the shoulders of a sixteen-year-old girl, but Jonathan and Martha had seen her watch over the baby, her "cousin" as she'd taken to calling him, while the adults had worked, and they knew she was an intelligent, responsible, and brave young woman.  She would keep their boy safe.

Now was the moment of truth.  "He'll be fine, Martha," Jonathan said as he punched the controls, speaking to himself as well as her.  "Our scans show the real Mars' atmosphere is close enough to Earth's to be breatheable, and the inhabitants look human-enough that he should be able to pass as one of them."

"And what about the reduced gravity?" Martha asked, who of course, had been over all of this before, but--like her husband--needed reassurances here at the eleventh hour.  "His body is designed for Earth, on Mars . . . He'll be too strong; they'll be terrified of him!"

"Maybe," Jonathan said, as he made the final adjustments, "But they'll have a heck of a time hurting him.  " 

Martha nodded.  "Did you load the recording?" she asked.

"Yes, though I doubt he'll be able to understand it," Jonathan said, depressed.

"That isn't the point.  The point is, he'll hear that his parents love him," Martha said.  "Even if he doesn't understand the words, he'll get the message."

The scientist nodded, then hit the last button.  The rocket ignited and, holding hands, the mother and father watched as their son was flew into the sky on metallic wings.  "Goodbye my son," Jonathan said. 

"Our hopes and dreams travel with you," Martha whispered.

Again, the ground shook, and this time, not even the supports of the Kents' home could withstand it.  Within hours, the planet began its death throws, the ground cracking deep enough to reveal the mantel beneath.  Within a single day, the Earth shook itself to bits, and ended neither in ice or fire as many had predicted but in the shattering of its own form.  Crumbling to bits as it imploded on itself.

But, if the souls of the dead did look down onto the world of the living from the great beyond, they would have seen that all of this was preceded by the journey of a tiny ship, an over-glorified lifeboat powered by experimental technology fly out into the sea of stars, across a the treacherous terrain that separated one dimension from another. 

And, they would have seen Clark Kent, the Last Son of Earth, land safely upon the red sands of a planet his people called Mars.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you didn't know, I took Jonathan's offer to stay from the first episode of SUPERMAN: THE ANIMATED SERIES. I agree with the Nostalgia Critic that it was kind of a bad idea to have Martha abandon her son to life on some unknown world all alone to stay with her husband and die. This made more sense to me: She refuses to go, because modifying the already 
> 
> For anyone who cares, the complete roster of the JSA in this universe was:  
> Starman (Ted Knight)  
> Phantom Lady (Sandra Knight)  
> Mr. Terrific (Michael Holt)  
> Blue Beetle (Ted Kord)  
> Hourman (Rex Tyler)  
> Dr. Mid-Nite (Pieter Cross)  
> The Flash (Jay Garrick)  
> The Atom (Ray Palmer)  
> The Sandman (Wesley Dodds)  
> Wildcat (Ted Grant)  
> Judomaster (Sonia Saito)  
> Green Arrow (Oliver Queen)
> 
> Collectively, I think this is a nice mix of powers, strategies, and character backgrounds (ethnicities, genders, etc.) without any one character being so powerful as to either outshine the others or raise the troubling question of "Why didn't this guy or gall stop the Earth from exploding." It leans a little on the pulpy side, but given that the Barsoom stories were originally pulp novels, I think that's OK. I like this bunch, and I think that eventually, I'll do a prequel showing one of the group's last adventures before the end of the world.
> 
> Yes, older readers, I originally had Jonny Quick instead of Jay Garrick. I decided to swap for reasons I hope will become obvious latter.


	2. The Last Son of Earth (Part II)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Barsoomian Glossary: I’m occasionally going to use Earth terms like “bat” or “feline” for ease, but I’ll mostly be defaulting to Burroughs’ world. Also, sorry fans of the original stories, there are no 
> 
> 1\. Barsoom: The Name of Mars to it’s “human” inhabitants. “The Eighth World,” a title which refers to its status as the eighth sphere going outward from the center of the solar system (counting the Sun and the moons of Earth and Mars). Once an Earth-like (or Jarsoom-like) planet, its oceans have long since dried up, and its atmosphere would dissipate without special facilities dedicated to preserving it. Like Earth deserts, the days are comfortably warm (so warm that its people prefer to go nude), but its nights are very cold.
> 
> 2\. Banth: A Martian Lion-like animal with ten legs
> 
> 3\. White Apes: Martian gorillas with white fur and four-arms. Highly aggressive. Man eaters.
> 
> 4\. Humans: Much like in comics, intelligent life forms on other worlds tend to look remarkably like human beings. The only between the natives of Earth and Barsoom is that on Barsoomians hatch from eggs and can live in excess of 1,000 years. This latter fact may have something to do with the atmosphere as Earth Humans gain similar longevity if they relocate to Mars. Sorry fans of the original stories, but in this series, Barsoomian coloration mimics Earth ethnicities (just so I have an easier time describing people, and so that Kal doesn’t stand out too much as the lone white guy in a sea of coppery-skinned Red Martians. Yeah, I guess I could have made him Native American or something, but that feels incredibly cheap and kind of tokeny. So, Jor El and Lara are white, and there are various shades of dark and swarthy skin on Mars. Just role with it).
> 
> 5\. L'zoril: Martian god of dreams in DC comics (possibly an avatar or disguise of Dream of the Endless)
> 
> 6\. Radium bullets: The primary munitions of Mars, hollow shells filled with a chemical substance that explodes when exposed to sunlight.
> 
> 7\. H'ronmeer: Martian god of Death and fire, as well as life and light. Also a god of art. Claims all Martian as his spiritual children. Possibly an avatar or disguise of Death of the Endless.
> 
> 8\. Clark Kent/Kal El: A note on his powers. In this series, I’m leaning more towards Superman’s original, Golden Age powerset. Meaning no flying, no heat or x-ray vision, no freeze breath, his powers are based entirely on gravity and not the Sun, and while Kal is unimpressed by small arms fire, he’s not totally invulnerable to everything short of Kryptonite and magic like in the comics.

Kal El sat down on a rock in the middle of the Wastes.  He liked to come here to think.  He was alone on his planet, taken from a space ship, the last son of a dead world.  Adopted as a member of one of the noble families of the city state of Helium.  A prince and yet a stranger in his own home.  It wasn't easy to live like that, despite his parents' affection and the promise that he would one day be accepted by his neighbors. 

It hadn't happened yet.  And so, he came to this place often, to be away from the stares and the distrust of his countrymen.  Once, this had been an ocean floor; now it was a desert.  Barsoom, the eighth world from the center of the system, was dying.  Had Barsoomian science not advanced to the point where it was now, it would be uninhabited.  Or, maybe it never would have gotten to this point in the first place.  Who could say?  Kal looked down and picked up a rock.  He chucked it as far as he could and watched as it flew off like a rocket, disappearing into the distance.  The boy sighed and stood up.  He was dressed as befitted a young man of a noble house—which is to say, he wasn’t.  The youth was naked as Adam, aside from a gold ring around his left bicep and a thin circlet around his brow; both were stamped with the crest of the House of El.  He wore not even the boots, cape, or weapons belt most would have worn when traveling through the Wastes.

Most would have considered him foolish, being so far outside the safety of his home city unarmed and unprovisioned.  And totally alone, with neither a human friend nor any companion animal.  He would be easy prey for any beast or brigand that fell upon him. 

“Well, look what we have here,” a voice said behind him.  Kal turned around and saw a group of men, six or seven all told, sneaking out of a rocky outcropping.  Like him, they were naked aside from personal effects.  Rather than jewelry, however, they were more practically equipped with boots and weapons.  Most were armed with short swords and knives, but their leader had a long sword and wore a helmet, and Kal saw a pistol at his side.  “Those are some nice baubles you got there, _m’lord,”_ the leader said, his voice dripping with the kind of sarcasm muggers reserve for those with so much more wealth and status than they could ever hope to have.  “Perhaps you’d be willing to hand them over?”

”No,” spake the heir of one of the leading Houses of the city of Helium.  “And I’d thank you fine men to leave me to return home.  In fact, I’d suggest you do the same; night is falling fast, and there are wild animals in these parts.”

The men circled around the boy, swords twitching.  One of them leaped and tried to grab him from behind, but Kal was ready for him.  The youth spun and grabbed the man.  Despite the brigand’s superior age and size, he found himself helpless in the boy’s steely grasp.  He tried to pull away, but Kal casually lifted him and threw him over the heads of his fellows.  He bounced a little before he was reduced to a groaning heap.

The other men roared and charged all together, forgoing the usual rules of honor which limited combat to one on one boughts.  Kal slapped their swords away with his hands, backing way from them before, with a quickness the men could scarcely believe, darting back forward and grabbing two men’s heads in his hands and knocking them together.  The pair crumpled to the ground.  Kal then danced around another man’s blow before giving him a hard shove to the midsection.  The brigand flew back some twenty or thirty paces, landing much like the first attacker, groaning.  The last of the men swung his short sword at Kal, who battered it away with his bare arm.  The man was so shocked he didn’t see his victim reach up and flick him across the jaw with his fingers.  The man staggered back and fell as though he’d been struck.  

Kale turned and faced the bandit leader.  “Do you wish to continue, sir?”

The helmeted man frowned.  “What demon of L'zoril‘s nightmares are you, boy?” he asked.  Not caring for an answer, he drew his pistol and fired on the youth.  The shot hit him squarely in the center of his chest, but nothing happened.  The boy stood there, straight and unyielding, as though the shot hadn’t touched him.  Yet, the bandit had seen his radium bullet explode and saw the soot which remained on the boy's chest before it was casually brushed away like dust.  Gripping his sword (a fantastically sharp and strong weapon he'd recovered from the remains of a downed noble airship) tightly, the bandit gave a savage cry and charged at the monster in human form . . .

* * *

 Kal made it back home before the chill of night fell.  Not too difficult a feat, really, he'd simply returned the way he'd came.  A few easy leaps had taken him on his way; as his body being designed for a planet with heavier gravity, Kal could cover the equivalent of multiple city blocks in a single bound.  He left the defeated band with most of their weapons--otherwise they'd surely die out in the Wastes--but the leader's sword he handed over to his family's valet, with instructions to find its proper owner, as it was too dangerous to be left in the hands of so dishonorable a company.  Unfortunately, he hadn't been able to escape his parents' notice.  Now, Kal El stood in a position feared by young men on every planet: on the receiving end of a lecture from his parents.

“Kal El, must you keep running out into the Wastes?”  The man who asked this was Jor El, the boy’s adopted father and current Lord of the House of El. Like his son, his dress was more decorative than concealing.  A circlet encircled his brow much as it did his heir's, but he also wore a red cape with the family crest embroidered in yellow.  A kara-kesh (a multi-purpose hand device) equipped with scientific functions wound around his left hand and forearm.  More tools dangled from a belt around his waist.  He wore no arm rings, but on his right hand was the signet ring of the House of El.

“And why do you have a scratch on your arm?” his wife, Lara, asked, noticing a long, red mark along one arm.  Lara, daughter of Sul-Van and Consort of the House of El, was well-known for her keen observational skills.  While her husband was widely acknowledged as one of Barsoom's most gifted living scientists, she was viewed as one of the wisest and most just judges in the history of the city of Helium.  Like her husband, she wore a cape, circlet, signet ring, and belt.  Her's, however, had pouches rather than dangling tools.  She also wore more jewelry, as was expected of a woman of noble birth and high position, though perhaps less flamboyant than her peers.  She wore a golden anklet above her left foot, and golden bracelets (some technological tools, some mere ornamentation) around both wrists.  The belt holding her personal effects is moderately, tastefully bejeweled.  Her nipples are covered with small, golden caps (not out of shame, of course; it was simply more jewelry), and between them is a simple necklace of gold with a dark blue gem.  Completing her ensamble are ear rings with the crest of the House of Van, showing respect to her birth-family.

Under her probing gaze, the young man, considered invincible by many, succumbed.  ”I was careless, mother,” he admitted.  “It’s nothing.”

”It’s not nothing,” Lara said.  “Were you attacked by a white ape?  Or a banth?”  The beasts she mentioned were among the most powerful predators on Barsoom, mighty beasts who prowled the badlands between city-states.  Preying on one another, on prey animals, and anyone unfortunate enough to fall within their line of sight without protection.

 

 “It was only bandits, mother,” he said.  “Their leader had a sharp sword and a strong arm.  I underestimated him and paid for it.  Don’t worry,” he added.  “I left them in such a state that they will think twice before attacking lone, defenseless-looking men again.”

His mother shook her head.  “Why must you constantly seek out trouble, my son?”

”I do not mean to, Mother,” he said, frustration choking his words.  “I just . . .”

"You have all this power; you're a superman," Jor El said.  "You don't fit in, and yet, you want to do something of .  And you think you were sent here for some grand purpose," Jor-El said.

"There are so many problems with our world, Father," Kal said.  "Wars between city-states, corruption amongst the elite, roving bands highwaymen in the wastes.  Our very planet is dying of a fading atmosphere and lack of water!  If I can do something to help, then by the gods, shouldn't I?"

“It seems you have inherited your biological parents’ spirits,” Jor El stated.  

“What do you mean, Father?” The boy asked.

"We had planned to wait until you were older," his mother said, looking to her husband.  "We didn't want to influence your actions or beliefs.  Perhaps that was a mistake."

"Regardless, it is unavoidable now," Jor El said.  He raised his left arm and his some controls on his kara-kesh.  Beside them, a screen flickered to life.  "The ship you arrived in, son, contained many records.  We've spent your life time trying to translate them.  It was a long, difficult project, one we were forced to suspend several times due to conflicts with other city-states.  Recently, however, our efforts were rewarded.  We now have all the data within your craft translated into Barsoomian.  There were records of Jarsoom's science, ecology, and history.  Your biological parents seemed to wish to ensure their world's memory was not wiped out."

"And perhaps that their son knew the world he came from," Lara gently added.

"Perhaps," Jor said.  "They also added a video message meant for you."  He hit another button.

Kal El stared at the screen, barely hearing his parents' words.  Before him, for the first time in memory, stood the forms of his birth parents.  A Jarsoomian man and woman, their bodies covered, largely devoid of ornamentation.  Behind them appeared a lab of some kind.  But that didn't matter.  He saw his parents' faces.  Faces of sorrow and love and, and hope.

"Hello, Clark," the man said.  "That's your name, the name your mother and I gave you.  I know you must have a new name, but we thought you should know the one we gave you."  The man swallowed, clearly troubled.  "My name, son, is Jonathan Kent."

"And mine," the woman said.  "Is Martha.  Martha Kent.  Before I married your father, I was Martha Clark.  We named you for both our families:  Clark Kent."

 _Clark Kent._ Kal El swallowed.  It was a strange name, it weighed heavy within his belly.  And yet, it felt right somehow, an answer to a question that had long plagued him.

"I was a scientist on our world, which we called Earth," Jonathan explained.  "And a pretty good one, if you don't mind a bit of bragging, but I was friends with a couple of the smartest men of my age.  Together, we pierced that dimensional barrier or whatever you call it that hid the truth of the red planet from our telescopes and probes.  The world we called Mars."  The pair went on to explain how Jonathan had ruined his reputation by trying to convince the world of his discovery.  "I probably should have waited like your mother and our friends suggested," he said.  "But I could never keep a secret.  I couldn't sit by while people kept believing something I knew was untrue."

"Integrity," Martha sighed.  "One of many things I love about your father, but a heavy burden nonetheless."

"From what we know of their records," Lara said, "dishonesty was frighteningly common place on Jarsoom--Earth.  Your birth father was of an uncommon breed."

Clark nodded hollowly.  On Barsoom, deception was a rare act, only perpetrated by villains and cowards.  For some reason, it filled his heart with pride to know this stranger, the man who had sired him, was different than his fellows.

The couple continued their sad tale.  Telling how they discovered their world was dying due to its people's own foolishness.  How Jonathan and Martha's attempts to warn them failed.  How they worked with their friends, the last and the greatest heroes of their world, worked at feverish speed to save him and one other child of Earth.

"What happened to her?" Kal asked.  "To . . . Kara?"

"We don't know," his father answered.  "We saw no evidence that another ship landed near the time yours did."  He shook his head.  "The dimensional warping technology your parents utilized, along with the cosmic propulsion technology were both highly experimental and constructed under desperate conditions.  We do not know if she died or if her ship is still trapped in the space between dimensions, either permanently or until some unknown time in the future."

Kal shuddered at the image.  His mind trembled at that thought.  Being trapped in . . . nothingness.  No sense of where he was.  No way to escape.  No home to return to, and no idea of the world he was meant to arrive on.  He silently whispered a prayer to H'ronmeer for her deliverance.

On the screen, his birth parents were giving their final good-bye.  "Travel far, my little Clark," Martha said.  "We will never leave you, even in the face of our deaths.  The richness of our lives is to be yours.  All that we have.  All that we have learned.  Everything we feel.  All this and more we . . . we bequeath you, our son."

"We could never get a perfect understanding of the Martian people, Clark," Jonathan admitted.  "We couldn't translate their broadcasts or their language, but we watched them, and while there's a lot we don't know, that we don't understand about their culture, we have seen enough.  They can be a great people, Clark, they wish to be.  They only lack the light to show the way.  For this reason above all, their capacity for good, we have sent them you:  our only son."

"You will give them an ideal to strive towards," Martha said.  "They will race behind you.  They will stumble.  They will fall.  But, in time, they will join you in the sun.  In time, you will help them accomplish wonders."  Wiping a tear from her eye, she added.  "I know this is true, Clark.  Kara, if she made it, is a good girl and will teach you well.  But, more than that, I know you will resist the temptation to misuse your gifts on your new world because you're our son, mine and Jonathan's, and I will always believe in you."

"You will carry us inside you, all the days of your life," Jonathan said.  "Never forget that.  We love you, son."

As the recording ended, Kal felt his eyes well up with tears.  He tried to fight them back, but he felt a hand on his shoulder.  He looked up and saw his mother, Lara, with tears steaming down her face.  "Let it out, son.  Let it out."  And Kal broke down and cried, turning into his mother and wrapping his arms around her.  Behind him, he felt his father, never the most demonstrative of men, join their embrace.  He cried, sad and joyous and confused, and loved.  More than anything else, he felt loved.

* * *

The next morning, Jor El walked out of the Master Bedroom to begin his day.  It had been a long night, the revelations had drained them all, and he hoped some ordinary, mundane observations of his experiments would settle his nerves.  When he walked out of the boudoir, however, he stopped.  In the common room, he saw the doors to the balcony open wide, and standing out upon it, was his son.  Kal El stared out on the horizon, watching the sun begin its daily ascent through the decaying Barsoomian atmosphere.  "Are you troubled, Kal?"

"No, Father," the young man said, not turning around.

"You're thinking about it, aren't you?" Lara asked, coming up beside her husband.  Like him, she had gone to bed troubled.  "What your Jasoom--your Earth parents said?"

"Yes," he responded.  Kal El turned to his parents, and they knew from the look in his eyes what he would say.  "And I promise I will live up to their expectations."  So declared Kal El, the heir of the House of El, the Last Son of Earth, the man who would one day be known across the galaxy as Superman. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, I cut and pasted the speeches Jor-El made in SUPERMAN THE MOVIE and MAN OF STEEL, and made both Jonathan and Martha say them (b/c DC has this bad habit with Superman and Batman of focusing on their deceased dads and treating their dead mothers as nothing more than window dressing). One thing the Nolan/Schniederized Superman got right was taking the idea that Superman works best as a literal superman--not only physically but psychologically as well. He knows how to use his powers for the good of everyone, and he behaves in such a way that other people just can't help but be a little more optimistic about the world. Don't agree with me, go read KINGDOM COME. If you do believe me . . . then go read KINGDOM COME anyway, because it's freaking awesome (forget WATCHMEN or THE DARK KNIGHT RETURNS, this is my submission as the best graphic novel ever made).
> 
> So, Kal got hurt by the sword. Not a lot, but if the guy swinging it had been stronger, or if the blade had been just a little bit sharper . . . Like I said, Kal isn't on the same level as the Superman we're accustomed to. He's really tough, but he isn't totally invulnerable or invincible. 
> 
> I stole the kara-kesh from STARGATE. There, it's mostly a weapon used by the System Lords. On Barsoom, it's an Omni-tool used that can be adapted to various purposes. I'm gonna steal other sci-fi stuff from various properties, and the Goa'uld stuff feels especially appropriate for this setting.
> 
> Lara's status as a judge is inspired by SUPERGIRL, where Kara's mother is also a judge. I thought it gave her something to do, and combined with Jor El's scientific background gives Kal a nice, well-rounded background.
> 
> So, now young Kal El is set to begin his heroic career. I warn you; superheroics on Mars are very different from here on Jarsoom. We'll get into that in the next chapter: The Man of Steel and the Dark Knight.


	3. Forging the League, Part I:  The Man of Steel and the Dark Knight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Barsoomian Glossary
> 
> 1\. Jed: The head of a noble House. 
> 
> 2\. Jedwar: A military rank, approximately the equivalent of an Earth general or admiral—the supreme commander of a city’s forces
> 
> 2\. Kreelix: A flying beast similar to Earth bats, except that they are big enough for a man to ride upon.
> 
> 3\. The Green: The spiritual energy that connects and nourishes all plant life.
> 
> 4\. Thoat: An 8-legged Barsoomian animal that serves as both livestock and a mount. They vary in size from big enough for a human to ride on to 10 feet tall. In the wild, they are height aggressive.
> 
> 5\. Jeddak: A Warlord or King of a settlement. The female version is a Jeddara. 
> 
> 6\. Sorak: A small, domesticated animal, similar to an Earth cat.
> 
> 7\. Nightwing: A blue-black bird native to Krypton in the Silver Age 
> 
> 8\. Flamebird: A red-and-yellow bird native to Krypton in the Silver Age

The sun rose in the Barsoomian sky, waking Kal El from his dreams.  The young man blinked his eyes opened.  Years had passed since he had first watched the message his biological parents had left for him.  Now, he was a man, an emissary of his House and a protector of his people.  And today, he had a mission.

He rose from his bed and dressed himself in his regalia.  Like his father, he too wore the red cape with the House's crest emblazed on its back.  A pair of red boots hugged his feet, while a simple leather belt went about his waist.  He wore no weapons, not because he didn’t need them (although he certainly did not), but because his mission was one of diplomacy, and he had no desire to look threatening.  Despite this, he slipped into an armored chest plate:  a harness with a sturdy shield that rested above his heart.  Its extra protection was almost certainly superfluous, but like the cape, it bore the crest of El, showing his rank as heir to his House and the importance of his mission.

As Kal strode out of El Manor, he was accosted by one of Helium's most tenacious citizens.  "Prince Kal!"

He stopped and watched her come running toward him.  She was beautiful, no doubt of that.  Dark hair that framed her face, styled in a functional, but flattering manner.  Blue eyes filled with determination and intelligence, full red lips.  Unlike most women (and many men) of the professional guilds, her only ornamentation was a pair of small opals pinned to her ears.  No necklace or collar encircled her throat.  No pasted gems bedazzled her breasts (though that didn't stop him from admiring them), no jewel in her navel, and the belt she wore above her nest of dark curls was utilitarian.  Her long, athletic legs (no doubt the product of chasing reluctant subjects) were bare except for a pair of simple sandals to protect her feet.

“There’s been much discussion about your mission to Nyx,” she said.  “Jedwar Zod in particular was quite vocal in his opposition to any attempts to ally with our own city’s traditional enemies.”

Kal sighed.  “Vocal in his opposition” was a polite way of describing Zod’s arguments before the Science Council.  The jedwar had been quite enthusiastic in bringing up the long history of conflict between the neighboring nations, as well as being quick to decry Kal’s extra-Barsoomian origin as the source of either his foolishness or apparent lack of respect for tradition.  More than once, Kal was worried the session would end with a duel between Ur Zod and himself.

Thankfully, it hadn’t come to that.  Kal’s Father had been able to argue the Council into accepting Kal’s ambitious plan.  Still, the heir of the House of El knew this would not be the end of his conflicts with the jedwar.  The only questions remaining were how long until the next one, and how long would their arguments remain peaceful?  

The woman continued.  “Tell us, Prince Kal, why are you so certain we need this new alliance?”

Kal shrugged.  “Well, it seems so very childish to remain hostile after all this time.  Outside of border skirmishes (which are mostly just soldiers with nothing better to do picking fights with one another) it’s been more than a hundred years since the last real war between our two cities.  Why shouldn’t we work together?  Our planet is dying.  This is the time all Barsoom should come together, not continue on with this factionalism and conflict we’ve been living with for the past couple thousand years.”

That had been the heart of Kal’s arguments before the Council, one his father had supported with his own research.  Thankfully, the Council had seen sense and sided with them.

”What about the protests by various citizens and soldiers?  Many of them have lost loved ones in the old wars as well as those border skirmishes you mentioned.  They’ve given Jedwar Zod a strong basis of support.”

”To them, I would only ask what means more to them, seeking redress for those who died in the past or seeking a better future for their children.  And now, if you don’t mind, I must be on my way.  Good-bye, Ms. Leyn.”

Lo-iss Leyn, star reporter of Helium’s primary news outlet, merely cocked her head and asked.  “Are you sure I can’t convince you to stay and . . . Talk for a little longer?” she asked.  It was a seemingly innocent question, but Kal saw how her eyes drifted down to his semi-hard manhood.  Common courtesy dictated that a person was supposed to ignore such public displays of arousal, but that wasn’t always enough to deter some people.

Fighting down a blush, Kal answered.  “I’m quite sure.  Again, good-bye.”  Then he walked off.  Lo-iss Leyn wasn’t the only young woman who had expressed an interest in the famous heir of the House of El, but she was the most persistent.  Kal shook his head; he wished he could find someone who wasn’t interested in him as a prince or a hero, but sometimes he wondered if it was a lost cause.

He didn’t notice the young woman stare after him as he walked off, annoyed but determined and pleased at the sight she saw.

* * *

Brooss Wheyn, Jeddak of Nyx awoke within the master bedroom of Wheyn Manor to the noonday sun beating down on his face.  Like the kreelix, the animal taken as herald of his House, he was a nocturnal creature.  It was  custom to be awake the entire Barsoomian night, working to ensure the tragedy that struck his House, his family, would never strike another ever again within Nyx’s borders.

Lying beside him was his mate and Consort, Celeen’a, cuddled up like a feline.   Her cropped hair framing her face, her eyes closed in content slumber, her exposed breasts rising and falling with every breath.  The sight caused a stirring within his loins, but he didn’t have the heart to wake her from her slumber.

Brooss got out of bed and left the room, pausing only to gently kiss her temple.  He exited his bed chambers and made for the bath.  The water-scarcity on Barsoom, combined with the lack of concern for nudity, meant that most bathing was done in communal bath houses.  Brooss, however, was a member of a noble House, moreover he was Jeddak of Nyx, and thus couldn’t use such facilities.  Not that he was barred from them, of course, but security was a nightmare in such a large public place (not to mention the lack of privacy when everyone came up to him with their problems; he got enough of that at court, thank you very much).  So, like most of its peers, Wheyn Manor had its own private bathing area for its family.

Upon entering the Bath, Brooss was greeted with a magnificent sight.  It wasn’t the Bath itself, though it was a truly impressive structure.  A wide from of bronze with friezes on the walls, carvings of the extinct sea life from Barsoom’s lost seas.  The tub itself was raised, requiring several steps to reach the steaming water and was similarly decorated with carvings of rare or extinct plants with small animals peaking out of them.

No.  What caught Brooss' eye were the two women who stood in the bath, kissing and caressing one another.  These were Pam’la Aesli and Har-Leen Q’nzel, known to a few as Ivy and Harli, concubines of the House of Wheyn.

Ivy had rich, lustrous red hair and beautiful green eyes.  Her skin was also green, every inch of it, from her scalp to her toes, from her dark green nipples to the shaven folds between her thighs.  Yet, this unique pigmentation was not a deformity, but a mark of blessing.  In addition to being Brooss’ concubine, Ivy was the Nyxian shaman, blessed with a deep and profound connection to the Green, the spiritual union of all plant life.  She was the reason the forest of Nyx grew as the largest and healthiest of all the gardens of the dying planet.  That she was willing to be his concubine was beyond belief.  

Harli was also an exotic specimen of womanhood.  She was pale as a ghost, with flaxen hair streaked with pink and blue.  Sadly, her coloration was not a gift of mysticism, but the scars . . . another individual’s actions.  One Brooss wished he could forget about.  Alas, it was impossible, though he took comfort in the knowledge that the one responsible could do nothing more to hurt her or anyone else.  

Her smile widened as she pulled back from her mate.  “Good morning, Master B,” she said.  The pair turned to face him as he stepped into the bath.

”Good morning, Harli.  Iv—Uh!”  

Brooss’ greeting was cut off as Harli dropped down to her knees and took his manhood into her mouth, sucking and licking with enthusiasm. 

Ivy meanwhile came up and draped herself around his side.  “I hope you aren’t in a hurry this morning, Master,” she said, kissing his cheek.  “I fear it may be a while until you get the chance to leave.”

“I’m afraid it cannot be as long as you would wish, Miss Aesli,” a new voice said.  Brooss immediately turned around and saw his Chief of Staff (as well as his serrogate father figure), Alphr’d, was standing in the door way.  The older gentleman—Alphr’d was approaching his 700th year, and so had deleoped a few lines in his face and some greyed hair—was remarkably unflustered for a man who walked in on his master and child-figure being sexually pleased (though, as said master had been mated and keeping concubines for years, it shouldn’t be.  Such were the trials of a servant). “The Lady Barb’ra says you need to come to the War Room, as soon as possible.”

”Thank you, Alphr’d,” Brooss said, reluctantly removing himself from the pouting Harli’s mouth even as Ivy sighed and backed away from him.  He mentally resigned himself for a long day.  “I’ll . . .”

”Finish up with Harli while I take care of Ivy.” Celeen’a said, sauntering into the room.  She patted the old servant’s shoulder as she passed.  “Alphr’d, would you please inform Barb’ra that we’ll be out as soon as we’re finished here?”

”Of course, Jeddara Celeen’a,” Alphr’d said before Brooss could even think to contradict the order.  Not that it would’ve done any good; he’d learned long ago when to argue with his family and when arguing was a waste of breath.  The Chief of Staff walked out of the Bath.

Apparently, Brooss didn’t know his consort as well as he thought he did, because he still tried to argue with her.  “Celeen’a—”  he was cut off as Harli resumed her previous task, distracting him rather effectively.

”Brooss,” she answered.  Definiatively.  Taking Ivy into her arms, she drew the other woman in for a passionate kiss.  She broke it just long enough to inform him, “I’m taking care of Ivy.  You deal with Harli.”  Then she returned her attention to their green skinned concubine.  

Meanwhile, Harli broke off what she was doing (although her hand came up to replace her mouth) to ask, perfectly innocently, “What’s wrong, Master B?  Don’t you enjoy me anymore?”  The words were playful, but there was something else in her eyes, a shadow.  A memory of that she couldn’t let go of. A memory of another man whose pleasure she had to work very hard to keep, for her own sake.

Brooss sighed, finally admitting defeat.  Bending down, he grasped Harli by the shoulders and pulled her up with him.  His hands dropping to her sides while hers wrapped around his neck and shoulders.  Lifting one of her legs, he thrust into her warm, wet passage. “I very much enjoy you,” he said into her neck before he began to nibble it, much to her delight if her squeals were anything to go by. 

* * *

Brooss settled into his chair in the War Room.  It was beside the most powerful computer in the whole of Nyx.  Also with him was his daughter-in-law, Barb’ra.  The beautiful red head sat at the main console, examining data.  Her mate, Brooss’ foster-son, Dikk, hovered by her as he always did.  He was protective of her—they all were really.  Barb’ra insisted they were being ridiculous, but still, the sight of her in her motor-chair or wearing her walking rig . . .

Although it went against law and custom and against his own beliefs, there were still times Brooss wanted to march down to the stasis-room of the Nyxian dungeon and just slit the mad clown’s throat as he slept.

Barb’ra hit some keys and a visual appeared on the large screen.  It was a man standing in front of the gates of Nyx, a man who crest of a House of Helium.  Brooss knew that crest, and he knew the face of the man who wore it.  Almost everyone on Barsoom knew that face.

”The Superman,” he said.

”They say he’s an alien,” Dikk remarked.  “You believe it?”

 “It sounds ridiculous,” Dey-me’n said.  He was Brooss’ biological son, although illegitimate.  Where his older brother was cheerful and outgoing, Dey-me’n was reserved and suspicious, not unlike his father.  “How could anyone on Jasoom have penetrated the dimensional barrier?  Their technology was nowhere nearly sufficient, according to what we’ve been able to glean from the other cities’ research.  He’s insane.”

”Who knows what the Jasoomians were doing in secret?” Celeena drolled.  “We are talking about a race that hid their bodies under layers and layers of cloth.  Who knows what else they hid.”

”Let’s not worry so much about where he got his powers,” Cait said, the last member of the assembled group. She was Brooss’ cousin, the scion of the Vassal House of Ceyn, and she had a long and distinguished history in duels and outright law-keeping work.  Her hair was still cropped to almost ear-length, and her face was as serious as Dey-me’n’s as she eyed the man on the screen.  None of the assembled wore any jewelry, beyond the signet rings the eldest two wore and Brooss’ circlet.  “The fact of the matter is, he’s the most powerful being on the planet, and he’s approaching our door.”

”So he is,” Barb’ra said.  “But for what purpose?”

Brooss remained silent as he watched as the alien man walked up to the city gates.  He stopped before them, unarmed, hands at his sides.  

“I am Kal El, son of Jor El of Helium!” he proclaimed.  “I request entry and an audience with Brooss Wheyn!”  

 “. . . I did not see that coming,” Dikk admitted.

”Helium is our enemy!” Dey-me’n snapped.  “What have we to discuss?”

”Demanding restitution for a border skirmish,” Celeen’a suggested.  “Possibly using it as a pretense for an all-out war.”

”That isn’t Helium’s usual style,” Cait said.  “And why send the city’s favorite son to poke the thoat?”

“We need to meet him,” Barb’ra said.  Everyone in the room turned to her.  She elaborated.  “I had a dream last night; we must hold palaver with him.”  The redheaded woman was not only Dikk‘s mate, she was also the oracle of the House of Wheyn, the only one of her kind in Nyx in fact, and she had been providing insight and wisdom to their House for years.  She elaborated.  

The group turned and looked at Brooss.  The man stood in silent contemplation for a moment.  “Contact Jedwar Gor-Don,” he said at last.  “Inform him to escort our visitor to us.  By the scenic route.”

* * *

 Kal-El was awed as he was escorted through Nyx.  He’d always heard stories of how terrifying a place it was, a place were brutal thieves’ guilds ran rampant, and murderers walked free.  Where honor meant nothing to a corrupt militia and nobility.  A city still run by a Jeddak—a Warlord—and a collection of Vassal Houses rather than a Science Council as Helium was.  And yet even the Jeddak and his mate were seemingly no safer than any of its other citizens, for they had been murdered by a common footpad.  At least, that’s what the official report said.  The tragedy had led to their heir, the new Warlord, instituting crack-down.  The new Lord Wheyn had overhauled the city’s militia and then led it personally into a decades-long war with the criminal element of Nyx and its colonies.

Yet, he strode through a park.  Lush, green vegetation surrounded him.  Brightly colored flowers shone with their splendor.  Birds and small animals flitted about and chattered to themselves.  Trees—actual trees!—shaded the path upon which they walked.

”And this place,” he asked the Jedwar who led their group, “This is open to the public?  Free of charge?”

The Jedwar—Gor-Don—nodded.  “Yes.  Ever since Ivy, a Shamaness of the Green, became Lord Wheyn’s concubine, she has used her abilities to ensure our plants flourish.”

Kal was even more surprised.  A Green Shaman!  The last one he’d heard of had been Bl’ckbr’ar Thoarn, but Thorn had used his powers for avarice and had become any enemy of the Helium.  Kal had been forced to do battle with the mystic, ultimately forcing him to flee Helium forever.  If Nyx had a Green Shaman who was willing to work on behalf of the city . . .

Then again, she was a concubine.  Helium had outlawed such practice generations ago.  It was strange to hear it was still an excepted custom in its closest neighbor.  And a shaman, no less!  It did little to convince Kal against the Nyx’s reputation of corruption and gluttony. 

Still, he resolved to keep an open mind.  He _needed_ this alliance, needed it like water.  He couldn’t afford to abandon this task before it had even begun.

That knowledge didn’t change the fact that, when a pack dark figures slipped out of the trees and surrounded him, like black ghosts, Kal couldn’t help but slip into a defensive stance.

* * *

Brooss had prepared himself for the possible battle. The prince of Helium claimed he came in peace, but Broos hadn’t survived to see his daughter’s hatching by underestimating danger.  He first examined his special utility belt, an article not worn to hold weapons or tools but both. It contained grappling guns, smoke bombs, flash-bangs, daggers, a telescopic lens, decrypter unit, hand-radio, restraints, and (his personal favorite) his own custom-designed weapons—throwing blades in the shape of kreelixes. Satisfied that all was as prepared as it could be, he set it down. Before wrapping it around his waist, he took two containers of grey and black body-paint and coated his flesh with it a mixture of each, coating himself in a camouflage pattern.  Then he buckled the belt around himself.  Next, he pulled on his black boots. Then, a harness which held a shield that would sit snuggly over his heart, baring a black kreelix on a yellow background, the symbol of the House of Wheyn.

Next he donned a black cape, its edges scalloped to resemble the wings of a kreelix. It was wide neough to wrap around his body, obscuring his outline and hiding the shield.  Then he slipped on his gauntlets, armored and baring three pairs of curved spikes on the outside of his arms.  Finally, he dawned the ancient helmet that had been passed down by his ancestors.  The helmet with the fixed scowl and the pointed ears rising from its sides.  The Kreelix Helm of the House of Wheyn.

Beside him, his consort had donned a similar outfit.  Largely bereft of armor, her body was painted a solid black. She wore a hood with ears reminiscent of a sorak as well as goggles with red lenses that would shield them from glare yet allow her superior vision in the dark.  Around her hips  was wrapped  a belt of golden disks linked together.  Attached to this belt was a whip, simple-looking, but Brooss had seen it strike like a radium bullet, disarming and subduing men who thought themselves invincible.   Her hands were incased in gloves with sharped steel claws; her toed boots also had claws.

Dikk had painted his eyes with black kohl to protect them from the glare.  He had black boots and black gloves protecting both his feet and hands, valueable for an acrobat.  Like his step-mother, he went without armor, doing without any unnecessary weight.  He did have a few odds and ends tucked into the compartments of his gauntlets and the folds of his arm-bands, though. His only obvious weapons were a pair of short, sturdy “sticks,” though his family knew how versatile and highly effective a weapon the “simple” batons were.  He'd painted his body black and blue, matching the plumeage of the Nightwing bird, which aided him in stealth and created a striking image.

By contrast, Dikk’s mate wore a variation on the kreelix helm of the House of Wheyn, although it was a hood like Celeen'a's, rather than a true helmet, and although she wore a utility belt like her father-in-law's, along with similar gauntlets, boots, and cape.  Although she did not wear the chest armor, she did wear a necklace with a golden kreelix pendant on that rested above her breasts.  Her other gear was also gold, though the outside of the cape was a rich purple, the color she’d painted herself. Since her injuries prevented her from taking part in the fighting (should here be any), she had abandoned all pretense towards stealth and had instead chosen to make herself as striking as possible.  Unlike the rest of them, her footsteps were heavy; the walking-rig she wore (decepricely crude-looking collection of metal plates and joints connected by thin metal shafts like a puppet that danced on its own strings).

Dikk's younger brother, Dey-me'n, on the other hand, had painted himself red and yellow, in mimicry of the Flamebird.  Although young, he carried a curved sword that would have been considered short to a fully-grown man, but was a long sword for one of his height.  Dey-me'n also wore green boots and gauntlets and had green khol around his eyes, having decided not to be stealthy as his brother but to strike a recognizable image.  He topped off the effect with a golden cape with a hood.

The last member of their party was Cait.  She was the first woman in the history of Nyx to dawn the Kreelix Helm of the House of Wheyn.  Not the imitation hood that Bar-b'ra wore, but a true, metal helmet, forged as an imitation of the Kreelix Helm, although hers was modified to have a long mane of red hair trailing out of it, in deference to her niece.  She too wore a utility belt, but, unlike Brooss', she also wore a pair of radium pistols strapped to her thighs.  She wore the black scalloped cape, but her boots and gauntlets were a dark red.  Like Brooss, she wore the shield of the House of Wheyn, but it bore the colors of the vassal House of Keyn, black where the Great House had yellow, and the kreelix was done in red.  Her body was mostly black and grey like Brooss’, but she’d opted to paint her face white, so that what little was seen of it stood out like a beacon.

Ivy and Harli weren't accompanying them; instead, they would stay back and guard the baby Hel'na.  A great responsibility for concubines, yes, but this was the daughter of both their lovers.  They would do all they could to keep the princess safe.  Besides, they were no ordinary concubines.  Harli carries a large warhammer, while Ivy had no obvious weaponry.  With her powers, she had no need of one.

”Prince Kal El,” Brooss said.  His voice was lower than normal, a reflex he’d honed into himself.  It heightened the mystique of his costume, his identity.  When he wore the Kreelix Helm, he _became_ the Helm.  Became a creature of night and shadow.  His family hadn’t ingrained such psychological transformations in themselves, but they were less conflicted about their natures than he was.

He continued in that same deep, hard voice.  “What is your purpose here?  Nyx and Helium are not friends.”  His cloak was wrapped around his body, turning him into a Kreelix-man ghost.  Beside him, forming a ring around the alien prince, his Consort, cousin, and children casually gripped their weapons.

”I am here because Helium and Nyx should be friends,” the man replied.  “I come seeking an alliance, a league, between our cities for their mutual benefit.  And the good of all Barsoom!”

Of all the answers he could have given, that was the last one Brooss was prepared for.

“Barsoom has been consumed by war for millennia,” Kal El continued.  “Once we were a united people, a united planet.  Now, we are nothing more than a few small cities and villages constantly at each other’s throats, like Banths fighting over a carcass.  We can do better.  Be better.  If we pool our resources—military, scientific, and cultural—we can work for the good of all our peoples.  We can defend ourselves from enemies, even work together to reverse the death of our planet.”

“Impossible,” Dey-me’n growled.  “Our world is dying.  The atmosphere is wearing out.  We can’t change that; if we could, our ancestors would have done so generations ago.”

”Alone it is impossible, yes” Kal admitted.  “But what if we were not alone?  That is what I propose: unified effort for the good of all. That is what allowed my parents and their allies to send my rocket through the dimensional barrier which separates Barsoom from the universe beyond.”

”You’re still sticking with that alien story?” Cait asked.

”It’s the truth,” Kal El replied.  “And it has been verified by the scientific community of Helium.”  

Brooss gunted under his breath.  Nyx was a civilized culture, supported by all technological marvels necessary for the modern world, but it was nowhere as scientifically or economically advanced as Helium.  It wasn’t a stretch to imagine that their neighbor’s knowledge of biology was superior to their own.  It was a given Helium knew more about astronomy than they.

“Fascinating,” Celeen’a drolled.  “But I fail to see how your origins are relevant to your proposal.”

“I am living proof life exists on other worlds,” Kal El said.  “Right here in our own solar system.  If sentient life could appear twice in one star’s orbit, how many times has it appeared in the wider universe?  How many races are capable of crossing the distance between their worlds and our’s?”

“Impossible,” Bar’bra whispered.  “Faster than light travel is a myth.”

“The Science Guilds of Helium say it may be possible,” Kal El said, tentatively.  “Through the use of space-warping or dimensional-transversal technology.  I am not an expert in such things.  But if we could theories it, it seems almost guaranteed that some other race should master it, if it is possible.  Someday, the ships of other worlds may appear in Barsoom’s skies, and the beings inside may There may not come in peace.  Would it not be better for our chances of survival if we fought alongside one another against a common foe rather than separately?”

Then Kal launches his final gamble.  “On Jasoom, the world of my hatching,” technically a lie since the data from his ship claimed Jassomians gave birth to live young, but symantics were not the point now—a group individuals united to combine their talents for the common good, for truth, justice, and peace!  To control the chaos of crime and corruption.  To create a world where no one would loose everything to a common footpad!”

”You go too far, Heluimite!” the shortest one cried.  He held his saber ready to swing.  The older male raised his batons, and the helmed woman pointed a pair of radium pistols at Kal’s torso.  The others didn’t look too happy about it, but contained themselves.  The Jeddak himself remained composed, but Kal worried he had pushed his luck too far.

"You need to join him, Brooss,” The hooded woman in the walking rig said, surprising everyone.  Her voice was firm as she spoke.  

“This is what you dreamed of?” Brooss asked.

She scowled at him, maneuvering herself to face her Warlord.  You know my visions are never that clear.  But I can tell you what is clear.  A new era of danger is coming to Barsoom.  Those of us who would stand for justice must unite or all hope of averting a new dark age will vanish.”

Kal El’s eyes widened at the implications.  An Oracle!  A genuine Oracle.  There was no one with such a gift in Helium; even Shamans were more common.  Yet here, in Nyx, in a single House, was both one of the rarest of Shamans and an Oracle.  He’d heard that Nyx was a city more steeped in mysticism than his own, and here was the proof.

The others waited as the lord of the House of Wheyn brooded in silence.  Kal El remained just as quiet as the others, although his eyes drifted to the red-headed woman with respect and awe.  They were arguably the most technologically and scientifically advanced nation on Barsoom, but their knowledge of the spiritual world was deeply lacking.  If Nyx consented to the alliance, both nations would be able to fill major gaps in their knowledge and resources.

 _If_ Nyx consented to the alliance.  Brooss Wheyn was not a man renowned for making friends easily, and Kal knew from days in court and council that the current Jeddak was a proponent of Nyx’s historical isolationism.  Despite his Oracle’s warnings, he might still refuse the offer.  The planet’s Destiny hinged on the descision of the blackened, brooding figure standing before him.

The Warlord remained silent for a moment, before the woman beside him—not the Oracle, but another one, carrying a whip of all things—elbowed him in the side.  The grim Warlord turned to scowl at her, but the glare she returned the look just as hard.  The remained locked in an ocular duel for a few moments more, before the helmed man sighed and turned back to Kal.

“Very well, Kal El of Helium,” he said.  “I will join your league.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, so, no secret identities for Superman and Batman. This arose mainly because I thought the whole naked thing made it really hard to believe that no one could recognize Kal and Brooss, especially when Batman probably gets plenty of injuries that take a while to heal . . . Besides, the Barsoomians are almost radically honest; the whole secret identity thing is probably impossible for them. So, in this setting, superheroes are just that: super heroes. They're the great men and women of their societies. They still accomplish great deeds and become walking embodiments of their people's hopes and ideals; they're just a lot more open about it.
> 
> Yes, Burroughs fans, there was no magic or shamanism in the original Barsoom stories (aside from the universal telepathic powers all Martians had and their impossible science), but I thought it should be here for a DC inspired story. Besides, I really like the concept of the Green, the Red, the various parliaments, etc., so I thought I’d use it here.
> 
> Ur Zod’s name comes from Jax-Ur, the DCAU’s version of Zod (why did they never use the real Zod? I don’t get it). Obviously, we will be seeing more of him.
> 
> Nightwing’s armbands are from the UNDER THE RED HOOD movie, which I thought more believeable than the idea that he hid all his gear in his gloves like the comics said.
> 
> I stole the bit about Batman’s mental state in the mask from the novel BATMAN: DEAD WHITE. It’s a good story, lots of psychological issues for Bruce, lots of compelling characters. And, best of all, Batman beats up a bunch of Neo-Nazis!
> 
> If you want a better description of Oracle’s walking-rig, just look up the brace Bruce wears in KINGDOM COME (or just read KINGDOM COME). I know someone will either ask this or wonder it if I don’t say anything: Why can’t this seemingly advanced civilization fix Barbara’s legs. Well, we’re going to explore this more later, but the short version is: Barsoomians don’t like cyborgs.
> 
> For those who care, Kreelix are taken from the book THE FIRES OF MERLIN, part of the LOST YEARS OF MERLIN series. It's a pretty good series, and I recommend checking it out.


End file.
